


Friends and Friends of Friends

by pinebluffvariant



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Gen, Season/Series 10, The X-Files Revival
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-11
Updated: 2015-12-11
Packaged: 2018-05-06 04:32:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5403122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinebluffvariant/pseuds/pinebluffvariant





	Friends and Friends of Friends

There is no nobody lonelier in this country than a single woman in her fifties, recently moved from central Illinois to DC, who doesn’t eat pork. 

The “scene” in this city, if you can call it that, is awful for adults. All the restaurants cater to twenty-two-year-olds either with a lot of mom’s money or no money at all; everyone is enchanted with nouveau riche barbecue; you can’t have a decent conversation over the tinny music.

For this reason, Zainab can’t believe that she has an appointment on her calendar for somebody other than a patient or her massage therapist.

She met Dana at a fundraiser for the Children’s National Medical Center two weeks ago. They hit it off: It was nice to talk to another physician who had changed specialities later in her career, someone who was so obviously excited by learning and change, someone who also - in an unusually candid fashion - confessed to being frustrated and bored with her life. Dana grimaced slightly at the question of dating, smiled tightly and changed the subject.

They discovered they were neighbors and loved the same coffee shop. Zainab sipped on her club soda as Dana swirled a glass of wine in her hand, watching it intently. Dana’s phone rang and she excused herself for a minute, and Zainab could see the other woman frown at the caller ID and roll her shoulders before answering.

“Do you run?” Dana asked later, after the two of them had their photo taken with Doctor Bear, the hospital’s “cute” mascot with the empty eyes.

Zainab shrugged. “I think the technical term for what I do is ‘a slow shuffle.’”

“I’ve promised myself to go for a run twice a week,” Dana said, “and tomorrow is D-day. Want to share the, eh, experience with me?”

Zainab accepted. They exchanged phone numbers. She wondered where she’d put her seldom-used running hijab. They decided to meet at Dana’s at 8am the next morning. The hijab turned out to be buried at the very bottom of her workout gear drawer. 

Two weeks later, they’ve run together several times. Dana is faster, but considerate, privileging conversation over calories burned. She’s told Zainab she used to be law enforcement, hence the determined gait and long strides. 

This morning calls for a lot of fleece: It’s 32 degrees outside and threatening snow. She drinks an extra cup of hot tea and brings gloves. She straps her phone to her arm and heads downstairs to Dana’s floor. She takes the stairs, hoping that it’ll warm up her creaking, middle-aged bones somewhat.

Zainab pauses at Dana’s door. There are Washington Posts piled on the floor, a sure sign of a busy work life or a busy social life, and from their conversations, she’d bet it’s the former. Dana is solitary, just like her. She can’t believe she’s made a friend in this cold city. 

There are sounds inside, and Zainab hesitates to knock. Talk radio is murmuring behind the door, and other voices, too. Did she get the day wrong? No, it’s Saturday, and they said Saturday. Maybe she’s on the phone. 

A man’s voice sounds clearly from right behind the door: “Just like old times, Scully,” the man says, “just like old times. You still owe me back hazard pay for all those nights you made me crash on the couch.”

Dana chuckles. “All the evidence always pointed to the couch being your preference.”

“It was,” comes the voice again from lower down, like he’s kneeling, maybe tying his shoes, “until it wasn’t… until, uh, until us.”

“I know.” 

“I’m too old for the couch, I think,” he says, standing up again.

“I know,” Dana says again. “We’ll figure it out.”

Just as Zainab is about to step away, head back upstairs until this conversation is over, the door opens. Dana is in her workout clothes, feet still bare. Next to her is a man, much taller than either of the two of them, wearing a big green parka and a strange, wistful smile. He startles at seeing someone at the door, turns quickly to look at Dana.

“Zainab!” Dana says warmly, “I didn’t forget. Let me just get my shoes- oh! Oh, um, Zainab Jafri, meet Fox Mulder. Mulder, I told you about my friend Zainab from upstairs.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Mulder,” Zainab says in her most chipper bedside manner voice.

The man extends his hand and gives a firm handshake. “Just Mulder, please. It’s great to finally meet you, Dr. Jafri. Dana talks a lot about your work - arthritis, right?”

“Juvenile, yes.”

He turns to Dana again, then back to Zainab. “I’m gonna be a clueless lay person now and ask if I can talk to you about my knees sometime.” He smiles and Zainab thinks there’s no way he’s not what she thinks he is - it’s impossible that Dana is not charmed by this. Mulder turns back to Dana, there in the doorway and pecks her quickly on the cheek.

“I’ll let you get to your run,” he says. “Very nice to meet you.”

Zainab can’t hold it back: “Do you know each other from the coffee shop?” she asks and regrets it instantly. None of your business.

Mulder grins and she sees Dana give him a look so strange and deep, she knows she’s asked the wrong thing. Then he shakes his head. “No,” he says and smiles, looking down at his shoes. He sighs. “I live in Virginia. I, uh, I feed Dana’s fish.”

And with that, he’s gone. Dana puts up her hand in a ‘just a minute’ gesture and disappears into the bedroom. When she re-emerges with her shoes and headband on, Zainab can’t read her face at all.

“I’m sorry, Dana,” she says, “I feel like I’ve overstepped.”

Dana simply shakes her head as she pockets her keys and phone, and bounces lightly on her feet. “No,” she says, “it’s okay. I don’t mind. He, uh…”

“You don’t have to tell me,” Zainab cuts in quickly.

“We’re married,” Dana says simply, on an exhale. “It’s complicated.”

Zainab nods. She knows all about complicated. Dana smiles the same strange smile she just saw on her husband’s face.

“I’ll tell you some time, but how about we go get that blood pumping?”

This morning, Dana shows Zainab some of that FBI speed as they beat down the sidewalks, zig-zagging between hungover Hill interns and designer dogs. Huffing, Zainab can't wait to hear that story. Eyes don't lie.


End file.
